


The Bet

by bookscape



Category: Alias Smith and Jones
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-19
Updated: 2019-08-19
Packaged: 2020-09-07 07:02:11
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20305372
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bookscape/pseuds/bookscape
Summary: Kid Curry decides to go visit someone from his past. The only person ever to best him in a shooting match.





	The Bet

The Bet

A large, snow-white poodle stood at the entrance of the tent appraising him. Jedediah “Kid” Curry smiled. It was certainly older, but no less wily than the first time he’d met the prissy looking animal. It was neither friendly nor unfriendly. “May I come in, ma’am?” Curry asked. His partner, Hannibal Heyes stood beside him. 

“If you’re decent and you don’t want anything other than friendly conversation,” the lady answered, her comment punctuated with a cough and a sniffle. 

“Friendly conversation is all we’re interested in, Mrs. Butler,” Curry said. 

“Not sure how decent we are, though,” Heyes added with a twinkle in his eye. 

The Kid elbowed his partner. “He’s only kidding, ma’am.”

She laughed softly. “Come on in then.”

Mrs. Annie Butler sat on an ornate settee, her needlework in her lap. She sneezed. She was a petite woman, with dark eyes and dark hair, but there was nothing delicate about her. She wiped her nose with a handkerchief. 

“If you’re not feeling well, ma’am, we can come back some other time.” 

“I will be feeling the same whether you’re here or not here.” She studied both men, but more particularly Curry. “We’ve met before, haven’t we?”

“Yes, ma’am, we have. About eight years ago.”

She brightened. “You are the one who almost beat me at an exhibition!” Then she frowned. “I heard you had become an outlaw. A robber. Aren’t you worried by coming here someone might turn you in?” Her attention switched to Heyes. “Can I assume you are Hannibal Heyes?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Heyes looked over his shoulder, nervous.

“You two are as bold as brass monkeys! I could easily turn you in and claim the reward money.”

Now the Kid grinned. “Yes’m, you could, but I don’t think you will.”

One eyebrow lifted. “And how come?” 

Curry shrugged. “Because you don’t need it and because I don’t think you’re that kind of person.”

Annie frowned. “Having grown up poor, Mr. Curry, I can always put a little money to use.” 

“Yes’m, I know that. We were pretty dirt poor ourselves.” He chuckled. “We’re not so blessed with money right now, to be honest with you, but that’s not why we came.”

She cocked her head. “Then why are you here? To congratulate me?”

Curry nodded. “Basically, yes. Plus the fact that Joshua, here, couldn’t believe there was anyone alive who could best me in a shootin’ match.”

“In a contest of accuracy, he would be right, most likely.” She paused. “Joshua?”

“May I introduce Joshua Smith and I am Thaddeus Jones.”

She laughed heartily. “Original.”

The Kid shrugged. “An old acquaintance who is helping us go straight gave them to us.”

“Ah, and can I ask why, Mr. Jones?”

“Why the names?”

“No, why you two decided to get out of the outlaw business?” Another sneeze.

“Too dangerous,” Heyes interjected. “The lawmen are getting smarter and so are the bankers and railroads.”

“Good luck, gentlemen, I hope you achieve your goal.” She looked sincere. “I was very disappointed when I had heard what you had decided to do with your skills, Mr. C. . . Jones.”

Curry looked embarrassed. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Not too many people can make money with a good eye and a fast gun,” Heyes said. “And there were other reasons….” His voice trailed off. 

“Maybe. But it’s hard to undo something you have already done. Just because you aren’t robbing banks or trains anymore doesn’t mean there are no consequences,” Annie said. 

“We have reason to believe there is hope for a . . . better life,” the Kid told her. “But I can’t tell you exactly how.”

“However you are going to do it, I hope you succeed.” 

The poodle raised his head from his paw and looked toward the entrance. 

“Perhaps you might want to say your goodbyes. I will be needing to practice soon. Besides tents are not conducive to total privacy.” 

“I had hoped to watch you practice, ma’am,” Heyes said. “But you are right, of course.”

“Thanks for seeing us, Mrs. Butler,” Curry said. 

“Please come back when it’s safe for you to do so,” Annie told him. “And you’re right. I wouldn’t turn you in. Especially since you are trying to go straight.” She waved off his proffered hand. “You don’t want this.” She stifled a sneeze. 

The two men left the small city of tents without getting more than a few glances in their direction. Mounting, they passed the large exhibition tents, smaller individual tents, corrals of horses, cattle and buffalo. There were teepees where Indian women cooked their mid-day meals. It was like everything they had ever experienced was residing in one tiny space. 

Heyes shook his head. “How can anyone live like this?”

Curry shrugged. “How can we live the way we’re living?”

“Touché.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing, Kid. Just a French word that means, well, it means that you got the last word, or something like that.”

They rode along in silence for a while. 

“It’s still hard to believe that I just met Annie Oakley and that you almost beat her in a competition.”

“It was actually sort of a draw.” Curry sighed and let his mind wander back that eight or nine years. 

**************

“Now who would like to take up the gauntlet and see if they can best me or this young woman?” No one moved. No one said a word. The petite woman stood calmly, checking over her rifle. It was a well produced Remington that appeared to have been especially made for her. “No one?” her companion wheedled. 

A young man in trail worn clothes smiled and stepped forward. He pulled off his hat and wiped his sweaty face with one sleeve. Light brown curly hair fell free. “I’d be willin’ to try.”

The older man looked him over, particularly his pistol hanging loosely in its holster on the younger man’s hip. “Pistol against rifle?”

“That’s what I own and what I’m good at,” Jedediah Curry replied. 

The older man smiled and shrugged. “Won’t make no never mind. Would you care to make a wager?”

This time Curry shrugged. “Don’t have much. That’s why I’m up for this shootin’ match. Didn’t the sign say something about some kind of prize?”

“If you can go five rounds against my wife.” 

“Or you, Mr. Butler.”

Butler laughed. “Fair enough.”

Kid studied the showman and wondered just which of these two was the best. He had assumed the man, but the sure demeanor of the woman was unusual. She seemed totally confident as she cleaned her rifle. Of course, it could be an act, too. 

“You, sir.”

“Very well.” He turned to a boy not yet in his teen-age years. “Prepare the clay pigeons.” Without a sound the young man trotted off across the field. “You ever shot clay pigeons, Mr. . . .”

“Curry, Mr. Butler. Jedediah Curry.”

“Mr. Curry.”

“No, sir, but can’t imagine them any worse than shootin’ the real kind.” That comment brought a round of laughter from those watching. 

“Well when you’re ready, Mr. Curry, just call out ‘pull’ and Billy will send off clay discs for us to shoot. You shoot the one on the right and I’ll shoot the one on the left.”

“Fair enough, Mr. Butler….. Pull!”

Two clay objects seemed to erupt from the ground on the far side of the field. Kid drew his gun instantly and fired. His clay disc shattered just as Frank Butler shot. 

The other disc exploded only a second after the Kid’s. 

The men went the proscribed five rounds before Butler missed. Curry didn’t miss his and was declared the winner. Butler was a good loser and pulled out twenty dollars from his pocket. 

“Thank you, Mr. Butler. You gave me a run for my money.”

“Mr. Curry, if you really want a run for your money, you should go a few round against my wife, Annie.”

The petite woman stood with her rifle ready watching him. 

“Do I have to put up my winnings?” Curry asked. 

“Just the proscribed dollar,” Annie Butler otherwise named Annie Oakley told him. 

“I think I might just do that,” Curry said with a smile. He dug out four quarters and handed them to Butler. 

Annie Oakley wasn’t cocky, but confident. “Clay pigeons?”

Somehow Curry thought she would have no trouble with those, but he wouldn’t either, so he nodded. They went ten rounds and were almost out of clay discs before the sharpshooter held up her hand. 

“We need a few left for tonight’s performance, Mr. Curry. How about a speed and distance competition?”

“Where and what?” he asked. 

“Those cans on the fence.”

Those cans happened to be almost far enough to need a pair of binoculars to see, Curry thought, squinting. “I think I’m game for that, ma’am.”

“You will do the ones on the left, Mr. Curry and my wife will do the cans on the right,” Butler announced. “I will drop this handkerchief and when it hits the ground you two will start shooting.”

Curry nodded. His pistol sat loose in the holster and his eye was on Butler’s hand. The white handkerchief fluttered in the slight breeze. He took note of that, too. The cloth dropped, seeming to take forever to hit the ground. It had barely touched when the pistol was out of his holster and the first bullet speeding toward a can. 

Six shots were fired to Annie’s five, but when she shot her last, all six cans were gone from the fence. One of Curry’s teetered for several seconds before finally falling off. He holstered the gun and turned to the Butler’s. “That was quite a feat, ma’am. You won fair and square,” he said, holding out his hand to the tiny winner. 

“Mr. Curry, I don’t believe I have seen anything like that before . . . exceptin’ from my wife, of course,” Butler exclaimed. “Would you like to join our show? There’s always a place for someone with a good eye and fast draw here. And it’s safer than marshalin’ somewhere.”

Curry was taken aback. It was tempting. To get paid for what he enjoyed doing and was good at? It was real tempting. Then he remembered the letter in his back pocket. The one from his cousin, Hannibal. He shook his head. “I really appreciate the offer, sir, but I already have a job waitin’ for me out West.”

“Well if you ever decide you want to join us, the offer will still be good,” Annie said. A curly haired, white puppy tied to a wagon wheel nearby, yipped as though in agreement. 

“I appreciate that, ma’am. I’ll keep it in mind.”

He rode out reluctantly then, just as he did now. Curry wondered what might have happened if he had taken them up on their offer. 

“Penny for your thoughts,” Heyes said as they galloped away from the show grounds. 

“Huh?”

“What’cha thinking of?”

“What might have happened if I had taken them up on their offer.”

“Offer? You mean they offered you a position in their show? And you didn’t take it?”

“I had just received your letter.”

“Oh…. Well, I guess you’d have been better off, Kid. Not have half the country wanting to kill you or put you in jail.”

“Maybe.” 

They rode in silence for a mile before either said anything again. “I made my choice, Heyes. I would be lying if I said I haven’t enjoyed ridin’ with you and the boys these past years. Even if what we were doing wasn’t exactly right….”

“It was fun sometimes,” Heyes interjected with a grin, not caring for his partner’s down in the mouth manner right now. 

“Yeah.” Curry returned the grin. “You can’t beat the thrill of making a plan and seeing everything go just perfect.”

“Yep,” Heyes replied with a chuckle. “Hey, you remember the time we took that bank in Laramie?”

Curry laughed. “I remember.” He kicked his horse into a gallop. 

Heyes caught up and slapped his cousin on the back. “We’ll be okay.”

Curry nodded.


End file.
